


For A Minute There

by blackcoffeeandteardrops



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Pre-X-Files Revival, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 01:23:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11863728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcoffeeandteardrops/pseuds/blackcoffeeandteardrops
Summary: "It had been so long since they’d simply been in the same space and shared each other’s company, and the longer he stayed, the more reluctant she was to let go." // AKA a one-shot set somewhere post break up & pre-revival.





	For A Minute There

A nice Saturday drive was what Mulder had in mind when setting out that morning, and for the first few stops he made, everything was relatively pleasant. He went to the hardware store to pick up a new drill bit to repair the fence, and the porch needed a new coat of paint, so he purchased a gallon of that as well. After that, he stopped at got a haircut--he’d been getting a little rough around the edges, or so Scully had said before she left, and that had been months ago--and marveled at what a good shave and some clippers could do. He bought produce from the farmer’s market, and he tried not to think about the weekends they’d spend hand in hand there.

After that, he drove further into the city, picking up a late lunch at a deli he liked before stopping in a coffee shop he knew she liked to frequent. _If I see her, I’ll say it’s just a coincidence_ , he thought to himself while sitting at a table near the window, anxiously tapping his fingertips against the worn wood. When he drained the last of his coffee, he tilted his neck to the side, trying to work out a crick in a sore spot, and he tossed the cup away. Scully hadn’t shown up, and he knew that fact wasn’t surprising--after all, he thought, shoving his key into the ignition with more force than was required--she hadn’t known he expected her to.

Perhaps it was the fact she was already on his mind, as if there were a time at all these days when she wasn’t, that led Mulder to drive slower upon seeing the commotion at the roadside on his way home. From what he could tell, a red sports car and a black sedan were involved in a crash, and surrounding them were several police vehicles, lights casting an eerie glow even in the fading hours of daylight. Glass littered the pavement like diamonds, and before he knew it, he found himself skidding to a stop.

Several people turned their heads at him stopping so abruptly on the highway. It became clear as he stepped out of his car that the police and emergency workers were still trying to secure the scene. He narrowed his eyes, feeling as if his throat might close at any moment, trying to desperately recall if Scully’s car had the same stupid palm tree sticker this one did on the bumper. He remembered laughing at how ridiculous it was, an emblem for something tropical in a dealership so far north, but her car had worked fine as far as he knew, so he never complained.

He wasn’t even aware that he’d been running until the car was directly in front of him, his view blocked by emergency personnel working on getting the driver’s side door open. “Scully,” he cried, and it was at the strained sound of his voice that someone finally addressed him.

“Sir,” a blond woman said, adjusting the belt at her waist with one hand and holding the other in his direction, as if to ward him off. “This is an active scene. If you witnessed the accident, you’ll need to stick around and provide a statement as to what you witnessed, but until the scene is safe and secure, we’ll need you to step back for safety.”

“You don’t understand,” he pleaded, craning his neck to try and get a look at the driver in the vehicle. He sighed as the woman moved with him, further blocking his view. “My wife is in that car. I need to be sure she’s okay,” he said, the breath leaving his body. “I need to see her, Officer…”

The woman furrowed her brows and shook her head. “Sir, you’re mistaken,” she said. “Both drivers in this wreck are male. I can’t confirm details other than that at this time, but I suggest that if you don’t want to be carted away from this scene in cuffs, you will do as I say, and kindly step back.”

“What?” Mulder asked. He blinked a few times in an effort to clear his vision. The police and EMTs were moving quicker now around both cars, allowing him to see the driver of the black car just before a stretcher from a nearby ambulance again blocked his view. The driver was indeed male as the woman had said, and as he took a step back, the car that moments before seemed so much like Scully’s still seemed similar, but differences were more noticeable. The hubcaps were much more scuffed, and dice hung from the mirror. The protective coating that tinted the windows was starting to peel, but he didn’t have a chance to note more than that, because he was jolted back to the present by the feeling of someone grasping his arm.

“Sir?” the officer asked, not even attempting to hide the irritation in her voice. “Sir, I asked you to leave.”

He took a few steps back, faltering at the crunch of glass under his heel. “Sorry, I have to go,” he replied, immediately bolting for his car. Where relief should have been his response to seeing Scully hadn’t been involved in the accident--and he was really, truly, relieved--the feeling was superseded by a need to see for himself that she was indeed okay.

She’d scribbled the address to her apartment on a piece of notebook paper, taping it to the mirror in the hall, leaving with it a note explaining why she’d left. He didn’t have to make the drive home to verify the address; the note had been burned into his brain. While he knew she’d only given it to him under the premise of an emergency, he didn’t even care at the moment if she slammed the door upon seeing him on the other side. All that really mattered, if he was being honest, was that he see with his own eyes that she was okay. A truck honked, the driver irritated as Mulder passed him in the right hand lane, but at the moment he couldn’t care less. He squared his shoulders, his knuckles growing white as he gripped the steering wheel tighter, and prayed that time would move faster.

He had been in such a hurry to get there, speeding through yellow lights and rounding corners faster than he should, that he hadn’t actually thought of what he’d say when he actually saw her. If, he reminded himself, staring at her apartment door. The idea that she could have had plans caused a sour feeling to stir in his stomach. Scully deserved to be happy, especially in light of all she’d endured, in large part thanks to him. He thought briefly of how different her life could have been had she not been assigned to work with him all those years ago, but before he let himself wander too far down that road, he raised his hand to knock.

“Mulder?” Scully asked, her eyes widening in surprise. She grasped the cross at her neck, opening the door wider in an effort to let him in, but still not moving fully out of the way. She could tell by his stance that something was wrong, and she feared the words that he’d say. “What happened? Is it one of the Tilneys?” she asked, referring to an older couple that owned backing up to theirs--his now, she supposed, the slightest tinge of regret creeping into her consciousness. “When I was there last, Mrs.Tilney was battling a bad case of pneumonia. Please tell me she hasn’t--”

“No, no,” Mulder replied, reaching out to grasp her shoulder in an attempt to assuage her fears, but pulling back at the last second. There were times when he wouldn’t have to guess at what was appropriate, and he hated not knowing where he stood. “I saw her maybe a week ago. She came up to the house asking for help. One of their cows had found a way through the fence line. I had helped her urge it back before starting repairs on the fence. They paid me in soup. Pretty good,” he said, smiling despite himself. In the days where they’d both lived in the house they rarely saw anyone from the neighboring properties, due to the distance in between. But whenever they did happen to cross paths, he always made an effort to remain friendly, if only because once Scully had gripped his arm, urging him to be nice when one had offered them over to share Sunday dinner.

“Oh,” Scully said, relieved for the older woman, although her curiosity was effectively piqued. She lowered her head, kicking one of her sock feet at the door jamb. He’d done a good job of respecting her boundaries, of staying away until she was ready, but something had made him drive all the way out. They’d recently begun a ritual of calling each other once a week, keeping each other up on life events, but this time something happened that made him want to see her, and she fought against the excitement bubbling inside. He was more clean shaven than the last time she’d seen him--hunched over in his computer chair, his beard bedraggled, and wearing the same stained pajama bottoms for at least several days--and the smell of his cologne was stirring something within her she fought against herself to ignore. Clearing her throat, she looked back up and thought she caught a hint of a smirk on his face, quickly replaced by one of worry. If he’d somehow read her thoughts, or sensed what she was feeling, he now tried not to show it. “That’s good. I’m glad. Do you want to come in?”

“Sure,” he replied, following her lead before he could convince himself it was a bad idea. He’d come over to see with his own eyes that she was okay, and now that he knew, the respectful thing was to turn and go. Still, as he watched her fluff the pillows on the couch, her hair falling into her face, he curled his hand into a fist in his pocket, resisting the urge to push it away. He focused instead on the plant sitting on her desk by the window, on the paintings that adorned her wall, on the bowl of potpourri on the coffee table--anything but the woman who was apparently just as nervous about this moment as he was. “Nice digs, Scully,” he said, instead of what he was really thinking, which was something along the lines of her living room looking like a hotel suite rather than a place to live.

Scully cast a glance around the room, nodding silently to herself before responding. “It’s enough. For now,” she said, daring to look him in the eye. She wanted him to feel off kilter, to feel maybe just this side of uncomfortable, because it was exactly how he was making her feel. “Mulder, it’s always nice to see you, but to what do I owe this visit? “

It was his turn to break their gaze, to shuffle his feet and pick at a hangnail on his thumb. When he glanced back at her, he noted the gray quarter sleeved sweater and black slacks she was wearing, and he nearly felt dizzy. They weren’t exactly clothes for lounging around the house, and whenever she worked at the hospital, she routinely wore scrubs, choosing sometimes to wear them home, rather than wasting time switching her outfit in the locker room. “I should’ve assumed you had plans, Scully. It’s Sunday night. Go,” he said, waving a hand over his shoulder as he moved towards the door. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Bothered me?” she asked, frowning though he couldn’t see her. He was nearly to the door when she caught up to him, tugging on his jacket sleeve to make him stop walking. “You could never bother me, Mulder. I wish you’d understand that.”

Her words echoed in his head, and he recalled other conversations where she’d said similar things, trying to coax him out of the cocoon he had managed to burrow himself into. He turned towards her, smiling despite himself, and shook his head. “Travel back to the early nineties, Scully, and the younger you would be shocked to hear you say that. Spooky Mulder has always been a thorn in your side. So, I should go. Let you set about your evening plans and--”

“Evening plans? Mulder, I just got home. Mom’s church held a charity luncheon. It ran a bit long, but it also included me bringing a tray of leftovers home, which is good. I haven’t been cooking much these days,” she said, tentatively bringing up the subject they both were dancing around. She didn’t bother explaining that she hadn’t stocked the kitchen with much, and she didn’t know if he’d be there long enough to find out for himself. All she knew was that he was there, and she wanted him around longer, even if it meant approaching a topic that for the last several months they’d been able to avoid. “Do you want some water? Or I can put the kettle on for tea.”

“Water’s fine,” he assured her, watching as she made her way to the kitchen. He rubbed his hands together and closed his eyes. All the adrenaline that had coursed through him a short time ago had begun to ebb out of his system, and he was left feeling tired but still restless.

“Do you want to sit?” Scully asked, returning to the room with a bottle of water for both him and herself. She unscrewed the cap, drawing several slow pulls before returning it and settling into the corner of the couch. When he sat down, she moved and inch closer, tucking her feet under her legs and tilting her head. She gripped the water bottle tightly instead of reaching for his hand. “Now,” she said, searching his face for any sign of the worry she’d seen written there when she’d opened the door. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Mulder laughed and shook his head. “It sounds ridiculous now,” he said, turning his head in her direction. He tried remembering the last time they’d been this close. There were times when he couldn’t pull himself away from her blue eyes, or stop himself from analyzing every freckle that dusted her cheeks. She was beauty in a way he’d never been able to find in anything else, and he felt a pang of guilt at knowing how much he’d neglected not just telling, but also showing her how much he appreciated her.

“There are lot of ridiculous things that have happened before, Mulder, but that’s never stopped you,” Scully replied. She crossed her arms and studied his face, noting the hesitation etched clearly in his features.

“I was driving home from the market, and I came upon this accident. It was bad, Scully. There was glass everywhere, police cars all around…” he said, closing his eyes for a moment as he relayed to her the details. “I know what you’re going to say, I’ve seen worse. We both have. And you’d be right. But as I was driving by, I caught sight of one of the cars, and I know it doesn’t make sense, but for a moment I thought it looked like yours.”

She sensed there might be more to the story, judging by the way he bowed his head, slowly tapping his fingertips against the water bottle he cradled in his lap. “What did you do?”

He laughed a little at being called out. He was reminded again that, though they were apart, no one could read him quite as well as she could. Relief at knowing the months apart hadn’t changed that flooded him, and he felt foolish at feeling like he might cry. “I wasn’t thinking. I pulled to the side of the road, and almost immediately this cop starting yelling. She said if I didn’t see the crash, that I needed to leave. Once I was close up, I could see it wasn’t your car. Not even close, really. But for a minute…”

Scully reached out, resting her hand on his arm. She felt him tense for a second before relaxing to her touch. “And then you came here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “To make sure I was okay?”

“Like I said, I know it’s ridiculous. I was trying to be respectful. I was trying to give you the space you said you needed. Even on the nights where it hurt to go to bed knowing you wouldn’t be there, I did it because--” he paused, his words hushed by Scully pressing the pad of her thumb to his lips. “What’s happening?” he asked, cursing himself as soon as the words left his mouth. Her thumb moved, gingerly tracing a small scar on his left cheek, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “Shaving incident,” he said, offering an explanation.

“I told you we needed to update the lighting fixture in the bathroom. It’s too dim,” she replied, swallowing slowly before pulling her hand away. She could almost still feel the stubble on his face pressing against her palm when she laid it to rest in her lap. “You need to be careful.”

“I appreciate the concern, Doc,” he said, grasping her hand. He wasn’t willing to let go just yet. He’d been sick, she said, and for the longest time he’d pretended he didn’t know the truth. In a weird way, her leaving had been the motivation he needed to get help. He was no longer content to sit at home, hiding behind stacks of old newspaper articles while scrolling through online journals in hopes of finding a truth he was no longer certain existed. Whatever future he had--with The X-Files, with the book he had been writing, with the guest speaking offers he still received, with anything--was something he wanted to share with her. Their lives had always been so intertwined, and he wanted to believe that still held true. “I’m trying.”

“I can see that,” Scully replied, nodding slowly. His palm felt warm against her own, and she tried not to think about how cold she’d been since she left. It had done them both some good, but there were days when she was all too aware of his absence. “This is the most clean shaven I’ve seen you in a long time.”

“There’s more than that,” he said, feeling the weight of the last few months pressing down upon him. He was desperate to tell her, to prove somehow, that he was changed. That he had battled his ghosts and that, while they still remained, they were getting weaker every day. “I’m not asking you to come home, because I know that we’re not ready for that. But I’m asking you to trust me, Scully. To trust that I am doing everything I can. I won’t say it’s easy, but I’m trying. I am.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and fought the lump she felt growing in her throat. “I know,” she said, blinking away hot tears. Why she’d chosen this moment to let her emotions come to the surface she wasn’t sure, but there was never anyone she let herself be as vulnerable and open with as him. “I’m proud of you.”

Mulder shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “You realize that you don’t have to say that.”

“I know,” she replied, nudging his shoulder with her own in an effort to bring his focus back to her. She clapped her hand against his thigh with a sense of finality, allowing her fingers to brush against the inseam of his jeans for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

He was torn between addressing the fact she was resting her hand on his leg and simply relishing in the feeling, but before he could make any decision, she abruptly stood up. She stood at the edge of the couch, rolling her shoulders a few times and slowly tilting her head from side to side. When she lifted her arms above her head to stretch, he caught the slightest hint of her stomach peeking out, and he gripped the place on his leg where her hand had been just moments before. “I’m keeping you up, Scully. Why don’t you go to bed?” he suggested, standing and jerking his thumb in the direction of the door. “I’m going to head out. But, uh, this was nice. Really nice. So nice that--” he cut himself off, rubbing his hands over his face, cursing his suddenly simple vocabulary. “It’s late. We’re both tired. But let’s do this another time? Maybe at the house?”

“We could do that,” she agreed. She again grasped his hand, lacing their fingers together, and drew in a shaky breath. “But Mulder, I’m thinking you shouldn't leave.”

He laughed, nervous energy bubbling up inside of him, thinking he knew where she was going, but wanting to hear her say it. “Look, if this is about the accident, I can call you when I get home, or I--”

“It’s not about that,” she replied, taking a step closer. It had been so long since they’d simply been in the same space and shared each other’s company, and the longer he stayed, the more reluctant she was to let go. True, not everything between them had been fixed, but she held onto the frayed hope that by convincing him to stay, they’d at least take a step in the right direction. “I don’t think you should leave because…” she shook her head, warding off the butterflies she felt fluttering. This was a man she’d spent the better part of her life with, in one form or another, so there was no sense in getting nervous now. “Because, Mulder. I’m saying I want you to stay.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. His thumb rubbed at the hem of her sweater and when she didn’t pull away, he slipped it underneath, tracing small circles against her skin, and he tried to remain calm. She was giving him an invitation, letting him back in. While he didn’t want to break the spell, he also wanted to be sure it was something she wanted rather than her simply getting caught up in the moment. “You sure about this, Scully? No offense, but this couch doesn’t seem as comfortable as the one we have back home.”

She smiled, shaking her head. Leave it to him to try and bring humor into the situation. For so long, they danced around the inevitable. After she left, they’d talked on the phone multiple times, letting conversation do the healing, but now that they were standing so close, getting closer seemed like the only sensible option. “You don’t have to worry about that,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper before she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his. His tongue darted out to meet hers and she moaned in delight. Her fingers raked against his hairline, the nape of his neck, the small of his back, operating from muscle memory. When he pulled back, she nearly whimpered, her skin growing cold at the separation.

“At the risk of killing the moment,” he said, resting his forehead against hers and hoping he hadn’t done just that. “Are you sure about this? What happened to you needing time?”

He was trying to be respectful, and she had to give him credit for that. She kissed him again, briefly this time, before taking a step back and giving his hand a tug, jerking her head in the direction of the hallway. When he didn’t budge, she knew she’d have to vocalize it to make sure he understood. “You’re right. I did. And maybe I still do. I left for a lot of reasons, ones I know you’re aware of. And I’m not saying I’m ready to just go back to the way things were before,” she said, watching as he processed her words. She pointed with her free hand towards the door, wanting to give him the choice, even if it was one she herself would regret. “You can go, if that’s what you really want. But Mulder, right now? I don’t want time. I want you. Got it?”

The fear he’d felt at the seeing the crash, and then the urgency he’d felt to see her afterwards, was replaced now by a raw need that had always existed simply for her. “Yes,” he replied, his voice rough. He stepped closer, kissing first her lips and then her jawline, and at last the spot behind her ear he knew would make her melt, trusting that even walking backwards she’d know the way. “Yes, I do.”


End file.
